


Snowmen

by frecklesarechocolate



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Case Fic, Hurt, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-12
Updated: 2013-02-17
Packaged: 2017-11-25 06:14:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/635966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frecklesarechocolate/pseuds/frecklesarechocolate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean gets hit with an odd curse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I asked for fluffy Destiel prompts on tumblr, and got "playing in the snow." Clearly, that's not what came out. Oops.

Snowmen.

Freaking snowmen.

What the actual fuck.

So, apparently, being a Winchester wasn't enough of a fuck you from the universe, no, now they had to add on snowmen.

Oh, and not just any snowmen, oh no. Freaking demon possessed snowmen.

Which, if Dean really thought about it, made no fucking sense whatso-fucking-ever. Because just about every demon that he and Sam had come across was vain to the point of narcissism. Why on earth would a demon want to possess a snowman?

And how the fuck was it even possible?

Of course, all of that was irrelevant at the moment.

What was relevant was the fact that Dean had just been thrown across the barn by a snowman.

Oh man, Sammy was NEVER going to let him live that one down.

Dean leapt to his feet and grabbed for Ruby's knife, which for some stupid reason, he'd not yet taken out before they ran into this particular group of demons. Because all he'd seen as they walked up were freaking snowmen. SNOWMEN.

Yeah, okay, so Dean was having a hard time wrapping his head around the fact that the monster of the week turned out to be snowmen. But given that he was a hunter, and hunting things, saving people; that was the shit that he did, he was going to have to get over the snowmen thing and just do that Winchester thing that he did do so well.

Or something.

He was circling around the demonic snowman - black coal eyes his ass - looking for an opening when the demon's head exploded in a puff of salt and snow. Dean wiped the detritus off his face and peered around the tottering pile of snow to see Sam wielding a shotgun.

Well, that was something, at least.

Dean turned his attention to another of the demons and managed to stab it before it could pick him up and throw him across the barn again - no sense in repeating that particular experience. Unlike with other demonic possessions, the knife slid further into the snow, Dean's hand and arm going along with it, and before Dean knew it, he was elbow deep in the belly of the snowman.

What the fuck?

Before he could register anything else, however, there was the telltale flash of red behind the snowman's coal eyes (and carrot nose, Jesus Christ) and the snowman toppled over, pulling Dean along with it.

Awesome.

Dean was now face down on top of a large, incredibly wet, incredibly cold pile of snow.

He worked himself out of the pile just in time to see Sam shoot the last of the snowmen, hollering the exorcism as he went, and the black smoke poured out of it, leaving the Winchesters alone in the barn.

Dean looked around, just to be certain that they'd gotten every one of them, and then slid the knife back into place. Sam grinned at Dean, and then they burst into laughter.

"Really?" Sam said when he caught his breath. "Possessed snowmen?"

Dean just nodded, still laughing too hard to say anything coherent. Dean Winchester, this is your life.

They trudged back to the Impala, Dean shivering from the snow that was still all over him, working its way into his boots, down the back of his jeans and making him feel damp, cold and just frigging awful. He hated being cold, and he liked being damp and cold even less. He tossed the keys to Sam and grabbed a blanket from the trunk. Wrapping himself up in it, he got into the passenger side of the Impala.

They got back to the motel in record time, and Sam insisted that Dean take the first shower. "Make sure it's nice and hot, Dean. You’ll get sick otherwise," Sam said.

Dean just rolled his eyes. "Yes, thank you, Samantha. I got it."

"Jerk."

"Bitch."

But Dean was thankful for the hot shower, and as he stepped out of it and wrapped himself in a large towel, thinking about what he might get for dinner later on. He dressed quickly; still feeling chilled, and let Sam have the bathroom. "I left you a little bit of hot water, Sammy." 

Sam nodded distractedly and went into the bathroom. About three minutes later, Dean heard Sam give a great yelp and grinned. He must have used up more hot water than he'd thought.

They had dinner and were back at the motel shortly after that, lounging on their beds, Dean flipping through the channels in a desultory manner. They were sort of at loose ends, since this particular hunt was over, and they didn't have another one planned. Dean gave up trying to find something good on tv and chucked the remote at Sam, who caught it deftly.

"I'm giving up and going to sleep. There's nothing good on." Dean peeled off his jeans and crawled under the covers, leaving his socks on. He was still cold. He lay there for a little while, listening as Sam tapped away at something on his laptop, but for some reason, he just couldn't get warm. Finally, he threw back the covers and stalked over to the closet. Sometimes there was an extra blanket stashed away in there.

No such luck. Dean regarded his bed with a gimlet eye, frowning. Then he went over to his duffle and pulled out a sweatshirt and some sweat pants. They were ancient, riddled with holes, but they'd do in a pinch.

"Dean?" Sam said after a moment.

"Yeah, Sam, what?" Dean shrugged into the sweatshirt and dragged the pants on.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"Putting on sweats, what's it look like?"

"No, it looks like that, I was really wondering _why_ you were doing it," Sam said.

"Oh. I'm cold. Aren't you cold? It's cold in here."

Sam frowned. “No. It’s not that cold in here, Dean. Are you sure you’re okay?”

Dean pulled back the covers and got back underneath them. A little bit better now. “Yeah, I’m fine. Night, Sammy.” Dean rolled over so he was swaddled under the covers as much as possible and closed his eyes. It took him much longer to drift off to sleep than it usually would after a demon fight.

Only to wake up in the middle of the night, shivering. Sam was sleeping and it was dark in the room. Dean was freezing. He burrowed further under the covers, hoping that might help, that he might be able to take advantage of some of the body heat that he’d already generated by sleeping, but it didn’t feel that much warmer all the way under the covers. He was at a loss. He rolled over and looked at Sam’s bed and noticed that Sam had kicked off the bedspread.

Well, it was one more layer.

Dean got up and grabbed the bedspread, teeth chattering now, and laid it on top of his bed. He crawled back into bed for the third time that night and felt slightly warmer. He was still really cold though.

He sighed heavily. Man up, Winchester, he told himself. It’s just a little chilly, you’ll be fine. He shut his eyes and tried to go back to sleep. It was a very, very long night of short naps broken by long, long periods of shivering.

When the sun finally began to peek through the curtains, Dean decided he’d had enough, and he threw back the covers and tromped into the bathroom. Turning the water as hot as it would go, he took another shower, hoping that would warm him up even just a little bit.

It didn’t.

By the time he was out of the shower, Sam was awake and had gotten them both cups of coffee. Dean practically ripped the cup out Sam’s hands in his eagerness to get something warm inside him.

“Dude!” Sam said. “What is wrong with you?”

“Sam, I am freezing. How are you not cold?”

Instead of answering, Sam stood up and felt Dean’s forehead with his palm. Dean flinched back slightly. Sam’s hand felt like a frozen metal signpost. “Man, your skin is really cold. Are you feeling all right?”

Dean glared at Sam. “Yes, other than freezing my ass off, I feel fine.”

“Dean, it’s actually kind of warm in here. I think there might be something wrong.” Sam gave Dean a look of concern, his eyes wide and clear. Dean did his best not to roll his eyes at this, because really? He wasn’t 8 years old.

Sam turned to his trusty laptop and began tapping away at the keyboard. “It’s got to be connected to those snowmen from yesterday.”

“Ya think?” Dean rifled through his duffle bag looking for additional clothes to wear. “Dude, you got any sweaters I could borrow?”

Sam nodded and waved Dean towards his own duffle, already engrossed in his research.

An hour of online research netted little to no information, as did the phone call to Bobby, who promised to do some research on his own end. By this point, Dean was wearing just about every article of clothing he owned plus several of Sam’s sweaters, huddled under his covers as well as the blanket and bedspread from Sam’s bed.

And he was still cold. He felt like there was an icicle hanging off the tip of his nose.

“Do you think we should call Cas?” Sam asked finally.

“What? Why?”

“Well, he might know what this is,” Sam said.

Dean thought about this for a moment before deciding that yeah, maybe it was a good idea. “Hey, Cas, if you’ve got a moment, could you get your feathery ass down here?” He’d barely finished the prayer before there was the soft flutter of trench coat and wings and Cas had appeared in the middle of the room.

“Hello, Dean. Sam,” Cas said, nodding at each of them.

“Hey Cas,” Dean said.

Cas furrowed his brow when he saw Dean huddled on the bed under the covers. “Dean?”

Sam hurriedly explained what was going on, including the hunt from the day before. The side of Cas’s mouth quirked up in a smile as Sam described the demonic snowmen, but his look turned serious as Sam continued to describe Dean’s symptoms.

Cas sat on the edge of the bed and peered closely at Dean. “Curious.”

Dean reared back a little bit. “Dude. Personal space.”

But Cas didn’t move. He too felt Dean’s forehead, and then cupped Dean’s face in his palms. Without meaning to, Dean leaned into Cas’s hands, because they were _warm._ For the first time in what felt like days Dean felt more comfortable. He made a small sound of disappointment in the back of his throat when Cas pulled away. This caused Cas to raise an eyebrow. “What?” he asked.

“You’re…” Dean hesitated, noticing Sam hovering behind Cas, looking at the two of them with a great deal of interest. Dean cleared his throat. “Nothing.”

Cas grunted, a short sound that indicated that he absolutely did not believe Dean. Whatever.

Dean eyed Cas for a moment before settling back under the covers.

"Seriously, Cas, any ideas?" Sam asked.

Cas looked thoughtful for a long moment. "Perhaps. I will need to go and check into a few things though."

Sam nodded. "That's great Cas. Thanks."

Dean mumbled his thanks as well, although he wasn't sure that it was intelligible over the chattering of his teeth. Without a word of goodbye, Cas was gone.

"What now?" Dean asked.

"I think we need to head out to Bobby's," Sam said. "I'll drive. Stay here while I load up the car." 

"Like I'm going anywhere," Dean muttered.

* * *

They were on the road in less than an hour, the heater on full blast, pointing at Dean's face. By contrast, Sam was in a t-shirt and beads of sweat dotted his forehead and upper lip. He had his foot to the floor, driving as fast as he thought he could get away with. His jaw was clenched, the bone pulsing beneath his skin as he ground his teeth together.

The ride was silent, other than the sound of the heater and the thrum of the motor. They weren't even listening to any music. Dean felt himself drift in and out of sleep over the next few hours. Each time he woke, he felt a little colder. They'd stolen two sets of blankets from the motel as well, but nothing seemed to keep the chill out, which had settled into his bones.

They finally arrived at Bobby's. He wasn't alone - Cas had apparently decided he would meet them there. Bobby pulled open the passenger door of the Impala, but it was Cas who reached in to help Dean out of the car. Dean was almost too cold to move, so Cas picked Dean up and disappeared.

"What --?" Sam asked.

"Got a room set up upstairs for the idjit. All the blankets I could find, plus a bunch from Jody."

Sam nodded and grabbed his laptop from the backseat. "Anything?" he asked, following Bobby into the house. 

"Still looking," came the gruff reply.

* * *

 Amazingly, Dean felt warmer. He opened his eyes to see Cas peering down at him, his brow furrowed in consternation. They were close enough that Dean could see the individual lashes over his eyes.

"Cas. Personal space," Dean said, his voice hoarse. He couldn't move at all, and felt a moment of panic. "The hell?"

"You've got quite a lot of blankets on top of you," Cas said. "Must be heavy."

Dean grunted. "It's helping a little bit."

Cas felt Dean's forehead again and made a tsking sound. When he began to pull his hand away, Dean said, "Don't."

"Why?" Cas asked.

"You're so warm."

Cas regarded Dean for a long moment. The hunter was pale, dark shadows smudging the space beneath his eyes. The tip of his nose was darkening to a bruised blue shade as his body lost the ability to regulate his temperature. Dean looked small and uncertain bundled beneath the blankets and quilts. Cas sat on the side of the bed and leaned down to untie his shoes. He removed his trench coat and suit jacket. Dean watched this in fascination. What was Cas up to?

"Move over. I'm going to get into bed with you and try to warm you up." Cas said, his tone gruff.

Oh. Well. "You gonna buy me dinner next time?" Dean asked, but he moved over toward the wall. Cas's eyes tipped toward the ceiling in a not quite eye roll as he peeled back the covers and lay down next to Dean. Unconsciously, Dean scooted back toward Cas, who was like a fucking furnace. It was all Dean could do not to release a loud groan of pleasure at the heat radiating off the angel.

Cas lay next to Dean stiffly for a moment, and then he turned his head. "It would probably be more efficient if I were to hold you."

"Hold me?" Dean's voice did not squeak. Cas nodded, and after much negotiation of limbs and torsos and heads, they managed to find a position that was fairly comfortable for them both. Dean was on his side with Cas wrapped around his back, arms circling Dean's waist. Cas's warm breath tickled Dean's ear.

Dean sighed, a slow exhale as warmth seeped back into him, starting with his back and radiating forward. He clasped his hands in Cas's folding their fingers together. He sighed again and drifted off to sleep, finally warm in the cocoon of Cas's embrace. 

* * *

Dean woke slowly, aware first of murmured voices somewhere off in the distance. Then he was aware of the warmth that was bleeding out of the front of his body, in great contrast with the warmth that was wrapped around him from behind.

"You're awake," said Cas, his voice a soft rumble in Dean's ear. Dean frowned. What the hell? He turned over on his side and realized that not only was he in bed with Cas, but he was in Cas's arms.

"Cas?" Dean asked. He could still hear the murmuring voices in the hallway - Bobby and Sam, he realized now. "What are you doing?"

"Keeping you warm, Dean. The snowmen that you and Sam exorcised were cursed. Some of that curse is affecting you."

Dean frowned. "So I'm turning into a snowman? Awesome."

Cas shifted so he was facing Dean, who tried not to think about the fact that they were lying in bed, face to face. Concentrate on anything else, Winchester. Look at his face, Winchester. "You are not going to turn into a snowman just yet, Dean." Dean tried to ignore the spark of humor in Cas's eyes. Yeah, okay, if this were happening to Sam it would be freaking hilarious, but since it's happening to him? Not funny.

"So, what then?" Dean asked, desperate to keep the conversation going. He wanted to concentrate on anything else other than the fact that he was lying in bed with his best friend. And really enjoying it. No, no, Winchester, not enjoying it. Enjoying being warm. Yes. That was it.

He was so lying to himself.

Cas sighed. "Your contact with the curse was secondary. So it won't turn you completely. However, it can still kill you."

Okay, now that was something to concentrate on. "Awesome," Dean said again. "Is there a way to reverse it, or am I gonna spend the rest of my life here in bed with you?"

This, of course, was the moment that Bobby and Sam chose to enter the room. They froze in place, and Dean lowered his head, his cheeks flaming.

Bobby cleared his throat. "Well, you can try that, Princess, but we're going to see if we can undo the curse. Unless you want..."

Dean raised his head and glared at Bobby. "Do not finish that sentence." Dean could feel Cas's exasperated sigh. Sam's face was a curious blend of bitch face number 613 (and why were there so many of those, really?) and barely contained hysterical laughter. Dean Winchester, this is your fucking life. "Do you guys have anything useful, or are you just going to stand there and laugh?"

Sam let loose with a snort. "Can we really choose?" Dean wrangled his arm out from under the covers to give Sam the finger, only to discover that he was wearing mittens. Mittens. What the fuck.

"Why the fuck am I wearing mittens?" Dean asked.

"Because they're keeping your hands warm. They're warmer than gloves, Dean," Cas explained patiently.

"How the fuck do you know that?!" Dean asked. "You're a fucking angel, you don't need mittens or gloves or any of that shit."

Cas gave Dean a look, one that could only be described as disappointed. Dean felt his stomach drop, realizing that he was being a big fucking dick, but he couldn't seem to help it. He was exhausted. He was freezing. He was huddled under fifty billion blankets and quilts, he was wearing about six layers of clothing (including the offending mittens) and he was cuddled with Cas. Cuddling was not something he did. Forget the fact that it was Cas.

Cas, about whom Dean's feelings were complex and confusing at best. Cas, who had done more for Dean than just about anyone else on the planet except maybe Sam. Cas, who had seen Dean's soul at its worse and yet he still hung around. That kind of loyalty would mess with anyone's head.

And Dean Winchester wasn't just anyone. He was a mass of self-loathing, angry, bitter, and dangerous humanity that any normal person should run the fuck away from. And yet Cas seemed to constantly be running toward Dean, or at least, moving in tandem with Dean.

But this look of sad disappointment in Cas's eyes, that nearly did Dean in. Because Dean was used to letting everyone else down. But when it came to Cas...well, Dean had yet to find Cas's threshold, Cas's final straw. Even when Cas was thoroughly angry and pissed off at Dean, he still managed to find a way to protect and support him.

Dean didn't deserve to have someone as good as Cas in his life, not really.

He mumbled an apology, and the disappointed look faded somewhat from Cas's eyes, thank fuck.

Rather than continue to open his mouth and shove his enormous foot inside, Dean opted to go silent. Not that he was giving anyone the silent treatment, but more that he felt that, in this case, discretion was probably the better part of valor.

Having made the decision, however, it was almost excruciating to lie there, cuddled - _no_ \- huddled against Cas for warmth while Cas, Bobby, and Sam discussed what to do about the curse as if Dean were not there.

Maddening. It was all he could do not to leap into the conversation and offer his thoughts on the matter. Until Cas returned his attention to Dean, a steely look in his eye.

"Dean."

"Yeah Cas?" Dean said, trying to be as nonchalant and relaxed as he could.

"Why are you twitching?" Cas asked, a note of puzzlement in his voice.

"I'm not -- what? I'm not twitching." Oh, this was painful. He wished that a chasm would open up beneath the bed and swallow him whole. This entire thing was absurd, and yet there they all were, discussing the problem like Dean and Cas were John Lennon and Yoko Ono having a bed-in for peace.

Dean was totally John Lennon.

But. Wait. That would make Cas Yoko, and...

Dean groaned, wishing that he'd never allowed his brain to stray at all. It must be the cold, his brain was just shutting down all semblance of normal thought, and Dean was of course just going to think of all kinds of crazy shit.

Awesome.

But Cas was looking at him like he was growing another head, and that had to be handled. He was pretty sure that Cas had said something while Dean was having this weird Yoko Ono moment, and... "Uh, what was that, Cas?"

Cas huffed an exasperated sigh. "I asked why you were twitching. You have been jerking around under the covers and it's very distracting."

Dean knew he was blushing, he just fucking knew it, because of all the unfortunate ways to describe what Dean was doing, Cas had to go and pick the one that was the most laden with sexual innuendo, didn't he? But that brought Dean back around to the fact that while he knew that he was blushing, that there was a spread of red washing across his cheeks - he couldn't tell at all. Normally, his face grew warm and then hot as the blush chased his embarrassment into view, but there was no sensation of warmth on his face.

He must have had a peculiar expression on his face, because Cas tilted his head suddenly and looked at Dean even more intently, if such a thing were possible. "Are you all right, Dean?"

Dean swallowed, willing his panicked heart to stop its stuttering. "Uh, no, Cas, I don't think so." He hesitated. "Is my face red?"

Cas frowned. "It was, but now it's...well, you're very pale, Dean."

"Oh," Dean said in a tight voice. "Then no, I don't think I'm okay, Cas."

Sam and Bobby moved closer to the bed, Sam sitting on the edge of it, practically shoving Cas aside in his attempts to get closer to Dean. He, too, looked worriedly into Dean's face and brought his hand up to feel Dean's temperature. As before, Sam's touch was frigid to the point of painful, and Dean jolted away. Sam frowned too. "Dean?" he asked.

"Sammy, sorry. But you're just so damn cold, it hurts, man."

"Huh," Bobby said.

Sam whipped his head around to look at the older hunter. "What do you mean, huh?"

Bobby reached out, but stopped before cupping Dean's face in the palm of his hand. He looked at Dean expectantly, waiting for permission. Dean nodded warily, and Bobby rested a tentative hand on Dean's cheek. Dean yanked away, just as he had with Sam. "The same, Bobby."

Bobby nodded, as if this was information that was useful. "And Cas?" he pointed his chin at the angel.

Cas too reached out to touch Dean's face, and Dean once again found himself leaning into the touch, the furnace that was Castiel's hand. He raised his own hand, still mittened, and held Cas's hand against his face. "Very, very warm." He closed his eyes for a moment, not giving a damn what this looked like, because he was really, really fucking cold, and this felt like heaven. This was a double bacon cheeseburger with crispy, salted fries and a cold beer on a hot summer day.

"Hm," murmured Cas after a moment. Dean wrenched his eyes open with great difficulty, but refused to look at either his brother or Bobby, because the whole situation was embarrassing enough as it was. Should Dean live through this -- WHEN -- Dean corrected in his head -- he would never, ever live this down. Sam was going to have a field day with it.

"I think that I might have some ideas," Bobby said. His voice was even more gruff than usual, which made Dean finally look up. The expression on Bobby's face was one that Dean wasn't used to seeing - Bobby looked worried. "Come on, Sam, let's see what we can find." They trudged out of the room, Sam throwing one more concerned glance over his shoulder before they shut the door behind them.

Dean relaxed back down under the covers and moved closer to Cas. He closed his eyes, his exhaustion finally catching up to him. It didn't even occur to him to muster up a complaint when he felt Cas begin to card his fingers through Dean's hair.

 "'S' nice, Cas," he mumbled.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean seems to be getting worse, and Sam runs into an old friend.

Dean didn't wake up. Castiel was worried, and the more he looked at the hunter, the more concerned Cas became. Dean looked haggard, skin grey and loose on his face. Dean was getting worse, and at the moment, there was nothing that Cas could do.

He heard Bobby and Sam downstairs, arguing about something, but he couldn't quite make out the words. There was an awful lot of shouting, and the sound of something being thrown across the room, ending in the not quite musical tinkle of shattering glass.

Castiel merely sighed and looked down at Dean again, taking a moment to brush his hand across Dean's forehead, moving a stray lock of hair.

If Cas were honest with himself, though, he wasn't just worried, he was terrified. It was so rare that he did not have the ability to fix Dean, to make things better, and this roiling feeling in his gut, the lump that wouldn't leave his throat no matter how much he swallowed served as constant reminders of the fact that _he couldn't do anything_. Dean was his responsibility, and Cas had failed him.

As an angel, a celestial being, Castiel had patience, infinite amounts of it, quite literally. He did not get bored, he did not tire easily, and he could keep himself in a state of near complete stillness for hours, even days at a time.

Except that now, for some reason, he couldn't. The fear that gripped him, the worry seemed to incapacitate him, and he didn't know how to manage it. He didn't know _why_ he felt this way.

Castiel also felt an irrational anger that made him tighten his jaw. Dean was forever throwing himself into dangerous situations, needlessly risking his life. He was so careless with something that he should treat as precious: his life. Cas understood that Dean did not see his own life as precious, not really, and Cas understood why that was. There was little about Dean's life that had been happy and precious. There was little worth savoring, and so Dean had almost no basis for hope for the future.

Cas sighed, a slight sound as he exhaled. A human gesture, he realized, but having spent so much time with the Winchesters, he found himself picking up those gestures more and more.

He also found that he did not particularly mind.

He stroked the side of Dean's face with the backs of his fingers, wondering idly to himself why he seemed compelled to touch Dean. Dean mumbled something and turned into the touch, the first sign of life he'd given since he'd fallen asleep several hours ago.

It did much to relieve some of the tension that Cas was feeling, his shoulders falling slightly. Perhaps Dean would be okay after all.

Footsteps stomping up the stairs alerted Cas to the impending arrival of someone. From the sound of it, it was Sam, and Cas looked up expectantly as the door opened. Sam peered into the room and opened the door wider when Cas waved him into the room.

"He's still asleep?" Sam asked softly, his eyes wide with worry.

Cas nodded.

"Bobby thinks he may have found a counter curse, but he's not really sure it will work."

Cas tilted his head. "Why not?"

Sam shrugged. "He said it seemed to be too simple."

Cas nodded, understanding Bobby's concern. The curse that had affected the demon snowmen and Dean was a powerful one. It felt somehow wrong that the counter-curse would be a simple one. "But perhaps the simplest solution...?" Cas said, completing his thoughts out loud.

Sam considered this for a moment, nodding slowly. "Maybe. The only problem is that it has to be done at midnight on a Saturday." He grimaced. "That's two days from now. Do you think Dean will survive that long?"

Two days was a long time to wait, given how Dean's condition seemed to be worsening. Castiel thought that his own presence was perhaps slowing down the process, but it didn't seem to be halting it.

"I don't know, Sam." Cas rested one of his hands on Sam's wrist in what he hoped was a comforting gesture. He wasn't always very good at this, especially not with the younger Winchester, who sometimes still seemed unknowable, even after Cas brought him back from Lucifer's cage. Knowing Dean was in many ways very, very difficult, given the complex nature of the man. But knowing Dean was also quite simple, because Castiel knew Dean's soul. Sam was an enigma to him, and probably always would be. It pained Castiel to think this, because he knew it would hurt Dean.

Sam made a small, frustrated noise. "Well, we'll have to figure out something. Unless..." Sam looked at Castiel, as if he’d had a sudden thought. "Could you...I don't know, bring Dean ahead two days in time? That way he wouldn't have to wait?"

Cas looked down at Dean again, and was surprised to see that he was running his fingers through Dean's hair again. Odd that he hadn't even noticed it. However. "I can't move forward in time. I can only move backward, and even if I could move forward in time, I don't know that it would be a good idea, given how weak Dean is right now." 

Sam looked disappointed, but he nodded as if he'd expected the answer. "It was worth a shot." He stood, stretching out his long limbs. "I'm going to see about getting some medical supplies. Maybe if we set up an IV with warm saline, that will help a little bit."

 

* * *

As Sam drove into town, he was uneasy about the whole thing. Bobby's idea for the counter curse did seem too easy, too mundane for something that was, even for them, just a tad on the weird side.

Not that they really had a choice, though. They had to try something, otherwise Dean was just going to get worse, and Sam didn't want to think about the next steps after that.

Sam pulled the Impala into the parking lot of the drugstore and turned off the car. He sat for a few minutes listening to the engine tick as it cooled, thinking.

If Sam were being honest with himself, it wasn't just that he was uneasy; he was downright worried. Dean was being very un-Dean-like. He was much more accepting of help than Sam would have ever imagined possible. Usually Dean shrugged off illness and injury as if were nothing. Dean often reminded Sam of the Black Knight: "It's just a flesh wound!" But Dean was, quite literally, taking this curse lying down. He was submitting to Castiel's care (and Sam had quite a few thoughts about _that_ ), and was allowing Sam and Bobby to take the reins on this one.

That worried Sam more than anything. That told Sam that this curse was very, very serious. Normally Dean would be up and about, leading the entire search for information, jogging out to the car and driving all over the back and beyond until they found a way to stop the curse.

That was Dean Winchester behavior that Sam understood.

Dean’s current behavior? Not so much.

A tapping on the driver’s side window interrupted Sam’s musings. He turned with a start and saw a worried Sheriff Jody Mills leaning over and peering at him in the window. She was off duty, wearing a dark blue sweater and a pair of faded jeans.

"Sam? You okay?" she asked, her voice muffled through the window. Sam nodded and pulled the keys from the ignition and opened the door. Jody stepped back to give him space to get out of the car. "Bobby told me about Dean. Everything okay?" she asked once Sam had slammed shut the car door.

Not entirely sure how much Bobby had told Jody, Sam opted to shrug his shoulders and say, "Dean's not doing great, but we've got leads on how to fix him."

Jody folded her arms across her chest and looked at Sam, the kind of disbelieving look that teachers and parents gave students and children. "Uh huh. This is one of _your_ kind of things, right?"

Sam nodded.

Jody sighed, a soft, resigned sound. "What can I do to help out?"

Sam nodded his head toward the drugstore, indicating that Jody should follow him. They walked inside together, and Sam made a beeline for the first aid aisle. He considered how he could respond to Jody's request as he filled up a basket that he'd pulled from beside the entrance to the store. Jody waited silently.

Finally, Sam stopped and looked at the sheriff. "We do need some medical supplies that I can't get here."

Jody waited again, eyebrow raised.

"Uh. Bags of saline and a few IV needles, and some tubing."

Jody pulled a notepad out of her back pocket, the kind that detectives carried, and flipped it open. She grabbed a pen from the same pocket and jotted a few things down. "Anything else?"

Sam thought for a few minutes about that, but couldn't think of anything else that they might need. "No, I think that's it. Thanks, Jody."

Jody looked at him skeptically. "You know how to push an IV?"

Sam hesitated. He knew an awful lot of things about medicine that most people without medical training did not. How to pop a dislocated shoulder back into its socket, how to stitch up a wound, how to remove a bullet and a whole host of other skills, but this was not one that Sam had ever needed. He shook his head slowly. "No."

Jody nodded as if she'd expected that answer from Sam, and wrote something else down on the pad. "I'll go and get the stuff and bring it over to Bobby's later. I'm a trained paramedic, so I'll be putting in that IV for you. I'll show you how so you can do it later on if you need." Sam opened his mouth to say something, but Jody just held up a hand. "Better if you don't say anything. I'm about to break a few regulations and at least one law." She gave Sam a sad smile and turned on her heel. Before she was gone from the aisle, she tossed over her shoulder, "And don't think that I'm gonna do this kind of thing for you boys all the time."


	3. Chapter 3

Jody came by later that evening with the promised medical equipment. She inserted the IV in Dean's arm while he was still sleeping, eyeing Castiel as she worked. This was the first time she'd met the angel, and while it was awkward having a conversation over Dean's frigid body, they seemed to get on well enough. Sam watched Jody carefully as she instructed him, nodding occasionally as she talked.

Jody dragged Sam down to the kitchen and had him practice on all the fruit that Bobby had in the fridge, muttering all the while that Bobby didn't have nearly enough fruit at all.

"Bobby Singer, how you manage to avoid scurvy is beyond me!" she hollered at one point. Sam snickered into his palm, but stopped when Jody turned her glare on him. He went back to practicing.

Jody was satisfied after about 45 minutes, and gave Sam directions for changing out the IV bags and tubing if need be.

"How much longer do you think you'll need to do this?" she asked quietly.

"We've got something in the works for Saturday night, so, two days."

Jody nodded. "All right. I'll have to get you some more saline then. I didn't bring enough for that many days." She stood and stretched, her long arms reaching overhead. "I'll be back tomorrow night with the supplies. Meantime, you call me if you need anything else." She walked through the living room to the front door, waving at Bobby as she went. Bobby grunted in her general direction, engrossed in one of his books of lore.

Bobby looked up when Sam came in. "Go okay?" he asked.

"Yeah. Not sure it'll help, but it's something." Sam rubbed his hand over his face. He was tired. Worrying about Dean was taking its toll, and he hadn't slept well since they'd gotten to Bobby's, despite the fact that normally he slept really well here.

"You should get some rest, Sam," Bobby said.

Sam grunted. "So should you." Sam gestured at the tome that Bobby was staring at. "What's that one?"

"Useless, is what it is." Bobby slammed it shut, disturbing a great cloud of dust as he did so. "Nothing in here about curses. Or demonic snowmen." He glared at the book as if it had personally offended him. "Demonic snowmen. Jesus wept." Bobby stood with a groan, curving his spine back a bit and twisting to get out the kinks. "You hungry?"

Sam shook his head. "No. I think I will try to get some shuteye. Don't stay up too late."

"Don't try to mother me, Sam Winchester."

Sam flapped his hand at the older hunter as he turned out the lights in the living room. He collapsed on the sofa and pulled the blankets up over his torso. The moonlight was bright, casting the shadows of the windowpanes onto the floor of the room, and Sam threw his arm over his eyes so he could try to sleep. The next two days were going to be long.

* * *

Sam woke the next morning feeling as if he'd forgotten something important. He lay on the couch, blinking the sleep away from his eyes as he tried to remember what it might have been, but nothing came readily to mind. He stretched, trying to get the kinks out of his legs and back (he was really too tall to be sleeping on the couch, but there really wasn't much of a choice) and stood. It was early yet, the sun just peeking up over the horizon, so he wasn't really expecting anyone to be awake.

He stumbled into the kitchen and made a pot of coffee as quietly as he could. He dug three mugs out of the cupboard and opened the fridge in a vain attempt at finding any milk or creamer for the coffee. As he suspected, a hopeless endeavor.

He poured the coffee into the cups and took several sips out of one of them. Balancing the three cups as carefully as he could, he headed upstairs. The door to Dean's room was ajar, and he could hear quiet conversation from within. He felt a small wash of relief at that - one of the voices was clearly Dean's. He was awake, and that was good, since he'd spent most of the previous day sleeping.

Sam hesitated to enter the room, but before he could tiptoe away, he heard Cas call his name. Sam pushed open the door with his toe and poked his head inside. "I have coffee, if you're interested."

The sight that greeted him wasn't much different than the previous day, only Dean was actually sitting up now, looking irritably at the IV that was in his arm. Cas was still in position next to Dean, hair mussed and sticking up in all different directions. It looked as if the two of them had both just woken up, and Sam tried not to think about the fact that they looked very much like a married couple sitting up in bed.

Dean nodded at the coffee. "That's great, Sammy, thanks."

Sam rolled his eyes internally at the fact that Dean still called him Sammy after all these years, after the huge number of times that Sam had asked him not to. It occurred to him that that was most likely the reason why Dean insisted on still calling him Sammy: because it annoyed the shit out of him. Now was not the time, however, to be a dick about something that was really kind of small potatoes. He handed one cup of coffee to Dean and offered another to Cas, who raised an eyebrow and then apparently decided that he could use some. He took the proffered cup and sniffed at it experimentally before taking a tiny sip.

Sam perched on the edge of the bed. "How are you feeling?"

Dean shrugged. "Cold. But this IV is working. That your idea?"

Sam nodded. "Jody did it, showed me how just in case we need to put another one in."

Dean raised his eyebrows at that. "Jody, huh?" He tilted his head just to the side and cocked a grin at Sam.

"Yeah, you are feeling a little better."

Dean snorted. "Whatever." He drank some of the coffee, making a face at it as he did. "Dude. This is cold." He handed the cup back to Sam.

Sam grasped the cup and hissed as the hot ceramic touched his sensitive palms. "Uh, it's not cold, Dean."

Dean frowned. "What the hell are you talking about? It's cold!" Dean grabbed the cup away from Sam and took another sip, shuddering as he did. "Cold." He handed the cup to Cas. "Right, Cas?" Cas took the cup and dipped his finger in the coffee. He shook his head and handed the cup back. Dean gave Cas a disgusted look and resisted the urge to throw the cup across the room. "Whatever," he said again, lacking anything else.

Sam frowned. "Dean," he began, but Dean cut him off with a raised hand.

"Forget it Sammy. Just...forget it. What's the story on the counter curse? Cas was just telling me that you guys were working on something."

Sam launched into an explanation of what he and Bobby had come up with, including their reservations about how simple it seemed to be, given the seriousness of Dean's condition. Dean listened quietly, his lips pursing in displeasure as Sam went on. "I don't like it, Sammy."

Sam grimaced. "I don't either, Dean, but unless you have any other suggestions..."

"I don't know, Sam! All I know is that I'm freezing my ass off here, and I'm getting really tired of being in bed all the time. I can't even enjoy it because I'm so friggin' cold and..." Dean trailed off, his eyes flicking over to Cas, who was sitting silently next to him. Cas looked at Dean, eyes wide and guileless.

Sam cleared his throat and gulped down the rest of his coffee. "Uh, yeah. So, I'm gonna go take these mugs downstairs, and, um. Yeah." Sam gathered up the mugs, including the one that Cas was holding (he'd barely drunk any of it, but he didn't protest when Sam took the cup) and left the room as quickly as he could. Dean just groaned and put his face in his hands.

"Cas," he said quietly. "Can't you just...mojo me better or something?"

Cas raised his hand but then dropped it back into his lap. "No, Dean. If I could, don't you think I would have done so earlier?"

"Yeah, I know. This just really sucks." Dean's words were muffled by his hands. "Really sucks. I don't know if I can handle another day of," Dean waved one hand to encompass the bed, the room, the entire situation, "this."

Cas wasn't sure how to answer, so he just sat in silence.

* * *

With nothing to occupy them other than waiting, the time passed agonizingly slowly. Dean, who was already irritable, became crankier as the hours dribbled by. Cas put up with as much of Dean's pissy behavior as he could, but he finally snapped late on Friday evening.

"Dean! Stop! What's the point in complaining if you can't do anything about it until tomorrow night?" Cas folded his arms across his chest and looked at Dean, his brows lowered over his eyes, which were flashing in anger.

Dean pursed his lips. "Goddammit Cas, if I can't complain, then what the fuck can I do?"

"Sit there quietly?" Cas asked.

Dean snorted. "You know me better than that."

"Hmm. Yes," Cas said quietly. "I realize that you find this awkward." He waved his hand indicating that he meant the situation. Dean just snorted again, but he did glance at the door with a worried expression on his face. "Do you want to talk...?"

Dean took stock of the situation before he answered Cas's question. He was lying in a bed huddled next to Cas, and had been for nearly a full day, with a few breaks for the bathroom. Cas had been at his side constantly, something that hadn't really happened ... well, ever. This kind of thing was just...weird. Weird as fucking hell, and what was weirder was the fact that Dean wasn't as freaked out about this whole thing as he thought he'd be.

Sure, he was cursed, and that fucking sucked. That bothered him more than anything. He was well aware of the looks that Sam and Bobby were throwing his way. They were irritating, and a little embarrassing, but other than that, he figured that he didn't give two fucks.

But this forced down time? Well, that wasn't so bad, although he wished that he could enjoy it a little bit more than he was. This extra time with Cas? That was kind of cool, and now that he was really thinking about it, he realized that he was kind of wasting an opportunity to talk to the angel and ... what, exactly? Bond sounded too chick flick, get to know the angel wasn't quite right, because he knew Cas, and Cas certainly knew him ... but there was a chance here, to get to just hang out with Cas, and he was blowing it.

And really, how much of a chance did he get to hang out with anyone, let alone his best friend?

Yeah, no chance. So why was he being such a dick about the whole thing?

He turned his head so he was looking at Cas. That may have been a mistake, as Cas was very, very close to him, as they were both lying on the bed, sharing the furnace of Cas's warmth. Dean pulled his head away just a fraction so he felt like he had some of his own breathing space. "Sorry, Cas. I know I've been a real asshat."

Cas smiled at that. "One of your many talents."

Dean snorted with laughter. "Something like that." Dean paused, wondering what to say next. Something occurred to him. "So, Cas, do angels get, like, down time?"

Cas's brow furrowed as he thought about the question. "No, not really. We are not always actively at work, but if we're not, we're usually in training." He paused, staring at the ceiling. "It can be ... unpleasant."

"Unpleasant? How?"

Cas moved his shoulder up in a shrug, brushing against Dean's shoulder in the process. "Individuality was never encouraged, Dean. Ever since I met you..."

Guilt swooped through Dean. Because of course, Dean had managed to make life difficult for yet another person that he cared about. He sighed.

Cas looked at him. "I didn't tell you this to make you feel guilty, Dean. It is what it is, nothing more." His eyes held a note of something Dean couldn't quite identify, an emotion that Dean wasn't quite familiar with. "My place hasn't been with the angels for a long time."

Dean swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. He held his breath, afraid to move, afraid to disturb the silence that settled between them as Cas stopped talking. Cas turned on his side so that he and Dean were now facing each other. Cas lifted his hand hesitantly, as if he were gentling a wild beast and wanted to ensure that Dean would not startle.

Probably not far from the truth, Dean thought, as he tracked Cas's handed closely. Cas cupped Dean's cheek with his palm. "My place is here. You once told me that you needed me, do you remember?" Dean nodded slowly, as if he were under water, his movements slowed by the weight of Cas's words. "I think..." Cas licked his lips, and Dean's eyes flicked down to stare at the movement. When Cas spoke again, Dean refocused on Cas's eyes. "I need you, too."

"Oh."

Cas pulled his hand away slowly, sensing that he had somehow placed too much on Dean's shoulders.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean contemplates Cas's revelation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right, so this is clearly very, very, very AU, since a) Bobby is there, 2) Cas mentioned "I need you, buddy" from purgatory and c) the whole thing with Samandriel in the episode about which I am so traumatized I won't even mention (*cough* 8.10 *cough*) So clearly I am indiscriminately ignoring all the stuff that's happened in season 7 and season 8 that I don't like. 
> 
> Don't even look at me. I do what I want. That's why it's called fiction, bitches.
> 
> As usual, unbeta'd, so if you find any grammar errors or have a solution for any awkwardly phrased stuff, let me know.

Dean swallowed thickly as he contemplated what Cas had just said to him. "I need you, too." – an echo of what Dean had said in purgatory. As much as Dean saw himself as a caretaker of others, the thought that anyone really truly needed him left him feeling... what? He couldn’t quite place his finger on the emotion – emotions – swirling through him.

No one in his life had really needed him, not in the purest sense of the word, other than Benny. And even that had been more like a bargain, an even exchange. They'd needed each other to escape purgatory and had – in reality – used each other. His friendship with the vampire wasn't any less important because of that, it was more that they'd seen in each other a mutual solution to a problem, and turned out to be blood brothers in more than one sense of the word.

Sam had made it abundantly clear on many an occasion that he didn't need Dean - not to take care of him at any rate. Dean's father certainly hadn't needed Dean either. Lisa and Ben had let Dean in, but he'd needed them, at least for a little while. And his need for them far outweighed any need they had of him.

There was no way that Cas could need him. No way. What on earth could Cas possibly need him for? They'd stopped the apocalypse, he was done being a servant of heaven, and so it couldn't possibly be that.

For that matter, what had Dean meant when he'd said he needed Cas? Seeing him huddled by the side of the river in purgatory, covered from head to toe in grime, a week's worth of beard growth on his face, all Dean remembered feeling was an overwhelming sense of relief. Relief and something else, something he couldn't quite identify, that swooped through his gut. Hugging the angel had intensified that swooping feeling, much as it had just now when Cas had said he needed Dean too.

Why did Dean need Cas? Cas had become this weird, integral part of his existence. Cas was gone, away from them almost as much as when he was with them, but he'd managed to become another piece of Dean's life. When Cas wasn't there, Dean didn't quite feel right, as if he was teetering around on a two-legged stool missing that all-important third leg.

When Cas wasn't there, things felt off somehow, and secretly Dean hated it. He would find himself straining to hear the fluttering of wings that indicated Cas's arrival – the spark of electricity in the air that signaled his appearance. Was that what Cas had meant? That he too, felt more himself, more sure around Dean? Dean dismissed this thought almost as soon as he had it, because let's be real, Angel of the friggin' Lord here. Cas didn't – couldn’t – feel that way. Angels just... didn't.

Unbidden, Alfie's – Samandriel’s – words echoed in his mind. "Too much heart was always Castiel's problem." It wasn't that Cas had softened so much as he'd let Dean in. Had Cas ever done that before? Ever in his entire existence? Dean thought that maybe he hadn't, given the wide wonder he thought he saw in Cas's eyes when Cas had said he'd needed Dean.

Dean sighed, a long drawn out exhalation that only helped to relieve his crowded mind just a little. As if he didn't have enough on his mind. Turning into a snowman was bad enough, becoming a _girl_ snowman? Yeah, not cool.

The entire time Dean was thinking about this, Cas was quietly lying next to him, for the first time in probably _ever_ respecting Dean's personal space - as much as one could while sharing a freaking _bed_. Again, how was this his life?

Dean rolled over on his side so he was facing the angel, who was on his back, staring at the ceiling. "Do you think the counter curse will work?" Dean asked, hoping to avoid their previous topic as much as possible.

Cas hesitated before responding. Then, "How would you like me to answer? With the truth, or with some empty platitude?"

Dean snorted in laughter. Trust Cas to be honest no matter what the situation. "Pick something in between."

Dean felt rather than heard Cas sigh, knowing without looking that the angel was rolling his eyes.

"I am sure that if it doesn't work, Bobby and Sam will come up with something that does." A beat of silence. "But you will be 'good as new' before you know it." Dean could hear the quotes even if Cas didn't actually use any motion to demonstrate them.

"Dude, you are a terrible, terrible liar," Dean said, feeling marginally better despite the less than comforting response from Cas.

Cas turned his head to look at Dean, the smallest of smiles on his lips. "There are much worse things to be bad at than lying."

And, well. Point. Dean just grinned and tried to stretch out his arms. The IV in his arm hampered the movement, and he cursed under his breath. His impatience about being stuck in bed was growing by leaps and bounds. Cas raised an eyebrow at Dean, but chose not to say anything about Dean’s discomfort. Instead, he changed the topic.

"Once the curse is lifted, will you stay with Bobby while you recover?"

Dean wasn't sure what they would do next. They did not currently have much in the way of pressing issues to deal with. They'd been stumbling from one random case to the next, making arbitrary assaults on the supernatural.

"Dunno. Not like there's anything out there demanding our attention or anything."

Cas hummed in response, acknowledgement rather than agreement.

"What about you?" Dean asked, not really sure he wanted to know the answer.

"I am in much the same situation," Cas answered. He fiddled with the seam of the quilt. "At loose ends."

And that was it – the perfect description of where they all were at the moment, or at least, where Dean felt they were. Nothing was driving them in any particular direction. There were just a variety of open roads before them and absolutely no clue where they might lead.

"What would you want to do next, given the choice?" Cas asked.

There was a question Dean had never, ever had to answer. The question – unexpected, especially from Cas – opened a floodgate of thoughts and ideas, none of which Dean was even vaguely familiar with. Where the hell did any of them even come from?

"I don't know," Dean said. He sifted through some of the ideas and realized that while they ranged from settling down to a quiet, apple pie life to continuing to hunt down every single demon and supernatural creature in existence, all of them – _every last one_ – included Cas.

And wasn't that interesting?


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More quiet reflection. Sam finally remembers something kind of important.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay in posting. First, I thought I'd kind of written myself into a corner on this, and second, there were issues with my username and account and stuff that had to be dealt with. However, I think things are squared away now, and there are probably going to be 2, maybe 3 more chapters at most. Thanks for sticking with me for the story!

Dean liked to think of himself as a realist, and that meant that he understood that things could go wrong with the counter curse. Frequently things they had planned out went in an unexpected direction, and Dean knew it was foolish to expect otherwise tonight.

On the other hand, he'd died and come back to life so many times that the fear of dying wasn't quite the same motivator that it used to be.

But sitting here next to Cas, lying next to him in bed in this forced intimacy for the last few days had been an interesting experience for Dean. He'd rarely had the opportunity to sit still like this at any point in his life. There'd been no chance to pause, and even when he'd been forced to because of injury, he'd struggled against the enforced rest with all the vigor of a cat fighting its leash.

There was something different about this occasion, and Dean thought that while it had an awful lot to do with Cas, there was probably another reason too.

Because Dean was tired. Not just tired in the sense that a brief trip to Vegas would help him recover, but bone tired. Weary to his very marrow. He was tired of motels and their strange, often repulsive smells. The feel of starched sheets, the sight of rusty pipes and old water stains. He was tired of not being entirely certain of the name of the town he was in, and he was tired of strangers. People who looked at him with leery, cautious eyes, even in his FBI getup. People who didn't even see him at all, whose eyes flickered to his face and then away with no sense of recognition. He was a non-person, and the thought of that left him hollow inside.

The apple pie life he'd tried to have with Lisa and Ben hadn't worked out mostly because he'd tried to have it all: have the soft life and the hunting life all at the same time. Worse, he'd tried to do it with civilians, with people who should never have known anything about the shit that he'd been enmeshed in since he was 11 years old.

But having the same place to lay his head every night? Having someone to come home to? Someone who came home to him? Having friends? Yeah, that had been pretty fucking awesome. And while Dean knew he couldn't give up hunting - it was in his blood, it was part of his soul, and he wondered if there was a way that he could have both lives.

Or, at least, maybe a place to come home to on a regular basis.

He shifted slightly on the bed, startled out of his thoughts by Cas. "Dean?"

"Yeah, Cas?"

"You're thinking awfully hard about something."

Dean made a small noise of agreement.

"What are you thinking about?" Cas asked when it became clear that Dean wasn't going to offer up any information without prodding.

"I was thinking about how tired I am, Cas. Of living the way I do." He hadn't meant to say anything, not really, but there was something about lying in bed this way with Cas that felt so personal, so intimate. It was as if the space between them had become a confessional of sorts.

Cas watched Dean carefully, not saying anything, as if he knew that Dean had more to say.

"I don't know, Cas, this is just all so..." he shrugged his shoulders, uncertain how to continue. He thought a moment, and then said, "I'm getting to old for this shit."

Cas smiled, a dry warm thing that washed over Dean with startling strength. Had Cas always had that effect on him? He honestly didn't know. "You aren't old, Dean," Cas said, leaving the second part unspoken. It settled between them though, this knowledge of what Cas truly was. It was so easy for Dean to forget this, to act as if Cas were no different than himself, other than having a deplorable lack of pop culture knowledge.

Silence for a moment, the house ticking and groaning around them, the distant murmur of Bobby and Sam off somewhere else in the house making preparations for the ritual. Dean scrubbed his face, the sound of his palms against the two-day growth of beard loud in the room.

"I am though, for a hunter," Dean said finally. "Not everyone lives as long as Bobby has."

The fabric rustled as Cas shifted slightly. "So what were you thinking?" The look on his face was knowing, as if he'd already guessed what Dean was just beginning to sneak up on in his own mind. The depths to which Cas knew him seemed to know no bounds. Cas knew him almost better than he knew himself.

A shrug again, because while Cas may already know what Dean was thinking, what Dean really wanted, Dean himself hadn't quite gotten there yet, wasn't ready to let the thoughts surface in his own mind, let alone vocalize them. "I'm thinking that I can't wait to get out of this bed without worrying about turning into an icicle."

And just like that, all the defenses and protections that had been lazily falling were slammed up again, and the moment, whatever it was, had gone. The light in Cas's eyes shifted minutely, and if Dean hadn't been so close to Cas, if he hadn't been looking as carefully as he was, he would have missed it: disappointment, followed by sadness. Guilt rushed in, making itself at home, settling in to the familiar surroundings of Dean's conscience. 

"Goddammit!" A crashing sound came from downstairs, followed by thundering footsteps up the stairs. Sam burst into Dean's room, hair flying, and his eyes wild.

"Cas!" Sam said breathlessly.

Dean and Cas sat up, identical alarmed expressions on their faces. "What's wrong, Sam?" Cas asked.

"Sammy??" Dean barked at the same time.

"We have to get Dean back. I can't believe that I forgot about this, that I didn't think of this until now." Sam paced back and forth across the room, running his hand through his hair, making it even wilder than before.

"What? Sammy, what the hell are you talking about? What do you mean you have to get me back?" Cas sat silently; content to let Dean take the lead on the conversation.

"What I mean is that we have to go back to where you were hit by the curse. Otherwise the counter curse won't work. Ideally, it's got to be exactly where you were - and I mean _exactly_ where you were, down to not just the location, but also the same spot in the building."

"Okay, so we do that. What's the big deal?" Dean asked, getting ready to swing his legs out from under the cover.

Sam sighed. "Well, we don't have a lot of time, really. We've got like four hours. It'll take longer than that to get there in the Impala, plus I've got to gather the rosemary tonight before the ritual, and..."

"Sam," Cas said quietly, exuding that unique brand of calm that he always carried with him. It served its purpose, shutting Sam up and easing the frown lines between his eyebrows. "I can get you, Bobby and Dean to the site whenever you need to be there. I will even be able to figure out exactly where Dean needs to stand. All you need to do is get the rosemary." Sam nodded, heading out of the room before Dean or Cas could say anything else, leaving them to stare at each other.

"Thanks, Cas," Dean said. "Guess you're coming to the rescue again, huh?" Dean stared down at his hands, where his fingers were twisting together.

Cas made a soft sound that might have been a laugh. "That does seem to be the case." Cas hesitated, and then placed a warm hand on Dean's shoulder, unerringly slotting it right on top of the scar of his handprint, burned there so long ago. Dean leaned into the hand, as a flood of warmth rushed through him from his shoulder all the way to his toes. "I am happy to do it, Dean. Always."

Dean swallowed and nodded, thinking that this was perhaps a another _moment_ , a fork in the road where he could make a decision and go one way or another. For the life of him, he couldn't figure out what the choices were, what going one way or another might mean, and so, hoping that it wouldn't become a missed opportunity or a regret, he said nothing.

Sam bustled back in then, with a map and Bobby in tow. Bobby was carrying a backpack, and was fumbling with the zipper as he walked. They looked so discombobulated that it was all Dean could do not to laugh. These two men who were some of the baddest of the badasses around seemed to be nervous, or at least, overly tense for what was supposed to be a fairly simple counter curse.

Sam began rattling off a bunch of instructions, all directed at Cas, who nodded his head gravely with each new piece of information. Sam eventually ran out of steam, and stuttered to a halt. Bobby muttered "Idjit," but that seemed to be more out of habit than out of any real feeling.

“So, are we going to get this show on the road, or what?” Dean said finally.

“Sooner started is soonest finished, I guess,” Bobby said, and that seemed to be that. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The curse is broken, and they meet the creature who cast it.

It was anti-climactic in the end. Cas got them all to the old warehouse, figured out the proper spot, and Sam did the counter curse. Dean, who was swaddled in multiple layers, including an enormous poofy winter coat, was standing next to Cas. Dean was definitely violating his own personal space rules, but until the curse was broken, Cas was the furnace that Dean needed.

The moment that Sam completed the ritual, Dean felt a surge of warmth from the top of his head all the way down to his toes. He practically staggered with relief.

And then he was _too_ warm. He stepped away from Cas and began to peel away layer after layer. By the time he was down to just three layers on top of the long underwear, he was feeling moderately better - almost human.

And that's when it all went to shit. Of course.

Cas stiffened and barked of sound of warning. Immediately behind Sam and Bobby a creature appeared, human head and body with the feet and claws of a rooster. A rooster? Its eyes were glowing red and fiery, an angry grimace on his face.

"Who the fuck...oh. Winchesters. Always fucking Winchesters."

"Nice to know we're famous, but who the hell are you?" Dean snapped at the same time that Sam asked, "Who are you?" Dean removed the last of his layers and began moving slowly towards Sam.

"Oh no, I don't think so." The creature froze Dean with a glance. He leaned back against a pile of wooden pallets and surveyed the scene carefully. "Ah, ah, ah!" He tsked as Bobby attempted to hit him with a piece of rebar. Bobby was sent flying across the warehouse where he slammed into the wall and fell in a crumpled heap.

Sam and Cas seemed to be the only ones left standing free. Sam's eyes flicked back and forth rapidly between the creature, Cas and Dean, assessing his options. He had Ruby's knife in his belt, but he was certain that any move on his part would result in the same treatment that Bobby and Dean had gotten. Deciding that in this case, discretion was the better part of valor, he remained where he was for the time being.

"You didn't answer the question," Sam said as calmly as he could. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Dean's eyes bulge out of his head. He could practically hear Dean trying to shout at him to move, shoot, or attack, ANYTHING other than try to hold a conversation with the chicken-footed freak.

"It's a shedim," Cas said, his voice low and dark. "It's usually fairly harmless."

The shedim made a sharp irritated noise. "Harmless?" It narrowed its eyes at Cas, who merely tilted his head and looked at the shedim. Clearly, whatever force the shedim had been trying to exert on Cas, it was ineffective. The shedim looked at Cas with a mixed expression of fury and amazement for a long moment, and then its face cleared. "Ah. Of course. An angel. Which one are you?" The shedim walked toward Castiel, being careful to keep Sam within its line of sight. Its chicken claws made a click-clacking sound on the concrete floor of the building. Sam noted a musty scent as the creature walked past him, one that wasn't wholly unpleasant, but could grow to be so over time.

Cas merely watched the creature approach, seeming to be unconcerned about any danger that it might pose him. Of course, Sam reflected, there were so few creatures that could harm Cas.

The shedim stopped directly in front of Cas and they had an epic stare-off, where the shedim seemed to be sizing up Cas, and Cas was only waiting for some unknown signal before making any move.

"Why are you here?" Sam asked, his mouth dry.

The shedim turned one shoulder toward Sam, its eyes never leaving Cas. "You ruined my curse."

"Your curse? That was yours?" Sam asked in astonishment. Cas's eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly at this. Meanwhile, Dean was radiating fury, as if that would somehow help to break the hold that the shedim had on him. If Sam had anyone with whom to place a bet, he'd put money on Dean actually being able to do it.

The question seemed to put a bit of swagger in the shedim's step, as he turned around fully and grinned at Sam. As he walked, his chicken legs bent backward at the knee and folded up to propel him across the warehouse. Sam decided right then and there that he was definitely not ever eating chicken again. Ever.

"Yep, that was mine. Was having a bit of fun, really. Thought it was kind of funny. Don't you?"

But before Sam could even open his mouth to respond, Cas had made his move, pulling back the head of the shedim and placing his palm on its forehead. Sam moved to stand in front of Dean and covered up his own eyes as bright flares of light spread out from underneath Cas's palm. The shedim gave a great shriek that reverberated up to the rafters and pierced Sam's eardrum, and then it slumped to the ground, dead.

Dean collapsed onto Sam's back once he was suddenly free from the shedim's hold. Dean regained his balance and darted around Sam to rush up to Cas, while Sam went to check on Bobby, who was carefully picking himself up off the ground.

"What the hell were you thinking, Cas?" Dean yelled, so close to Cas that they were practically nose-to-nose.

"Dean," Cas said, but Dean wasn't finished yelling.

"That ... that _thing_ could have hurt you, what the fuck, man?"

Cas sighed. "Dean." He just looked at Dean, his expression one of fond exasperation. It was clear that he was trying not to smile, because he knew that it would irritate Dean.

Dean yelled a bit more, and finally subsided under Cas's calm look.

"The shedim couldn't harm me," Cas said once Dean was calm.

"Yeah? What the fuck was that thing, anyway? What's a shedim?"

"It's a type of demon. I haven't seen one in a long time," Cas said.

Dean frowned. "Why'd it have chicken legs?"

"Rooster. No one really knows. They were just created that way," Cas replied.

"Hey, Cas, Bobby needs a bit of help over here," Sam said from over by the wall. Cas strode over and did his angel mojo thing, healing Bobby's broken rib. Bobby, who had been pale and grimacing, nodded his thanks once the pain cleared. Sam and Cas helped him to his feet.

Bobby tilted his chin at Dean. "You all right, boy?"

Dean grinned and nodded back. "Yep, right as rain. Feels good. Now can we get out of here, do you think?"

Cas grabbed onto Sam and Bobby and disappeared with them, tail coats and feathers rustling as he went, leaving Dean alone in the warehouse.

"What the fu--" Dean began, but Cas was back before he could even finish.

Cas stepped into Dean's personal space, almost closer than he'd ever been before. "Dean."

Dean stepped back with one foot. "Cas? What's going on?" 

"We need to talk, Dean." His gaze was intense, eyes dark and steely. He lifted his chin slightly, and Dean felt a small wobble of something in his gut. He nodded slowly.

"Yeah. Yeah, okay."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there are a bunch of different interpretations of what the heck a shedim actually _is_ , but I went with this one. I liked the idea of a demon with chicken legs, I thought it was particularly creepy. In the end, the demon's not that important to the story, but I thought it should show up so it could stop turning things into snowmen and killing them. I know, no mythology here whatsoever, and what the heck is its motivation? I don't fuckin' know. Can you say, "Weakest. Chapter. Ever."??
> 
> So, most likely just one more chapter.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas and Dean talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to [ Colonialdncr](http://colonialdncr.tumblr.com) for being a great beta.

"We need to talk, Dean."

"Yeah. Yeah, okay," said Dean. He looked around the warehouse. "Not here though. Someplace warmer?"

Cas nodded, and touched Dean's forehead. Dean's eyes closed instinctively, awaiting the inevitable pull from his gut. The wrenching feeling sometimes felt like he was being turned upside down, and this time was no different. It took him a minute to regain his equilibrium.

The sun was warm on his face, and he turned toward it, basking in the warmth. He opened his eyes. Compared with the dank gloom of the warehouse, the bright sunshine was blinding. Dean blinked several times and squinted against the glare.

When his eyes finally acclimated to the brightness, he was able to see where they were.

White sand stretched out before them, catching and reflecting the brilliant sunlight. Blue green water up against a shoreline, and behind them a thick green, humid forest sprung up. The water spread as far as Dean could see in all directions.

Cas looked horribly out of place in his suit, tie, trench coat and dress shoes. "A deserted island, Cas? Kind of cliché, don't ya think?"

Though Cas's mouth didn't move, the crinkles around his eyes deepened. "You wanted someplace warm. I like to come here sometimes to listen to the ocean."

"Where are we, anyway?" Dean asked.

"The South Pacific."

"Oh." Dean swallowed. This was the furthest outside the US he had ever been, and he'd gotten here in less than a blink of an eye. His life was very weird.

Cas tipped his head over to the side, indicating an overturned log where they could sit. Dean pulled off the last of his layers, leaving him wearing just a t-shirt and jeans. They sat side-by-side and stared out at the water. Dean could see what Cas meant by listening to the ocean, other than a few gulls screeching in the air and the insistent hum of insects from the forest behind them, the only sound came from the crashing of the waves on the beach. It was peaceful. And warm, thank fuck.

"Dean," Cas began. He dropped his gaze to his hands, which were twisting nervously in his lap. "I need you to be more careful."

Dean snorted. "You're the one who needs to be more careful, Cas. That shedim thing could have hurt you too, you know."

"Dean."

"Yeah, okay, I get it. You're an angel of the Lord. You're a multidimensional wavelength of celestial intent." Dean exhaled loudly. "But you're not completely indestructible. One of these days we're going to come up against some big bad that's going to destroy you, and you ain't going to come back."

Cas was silent for a moment, his eyes thoughtful. "And that would bother you?" He was studiously observing his hands now, as if they held the answers to every question that he might have.

"Hell yes, it would bother me! Cas, you're my best friend, hell you're my only friend in the world besides Sam." Dean rubbed his chin with his forefinger. "Cas, I just...I don't..." Dean wasn't sure what he wanted to say, how he wanted to say whatever it was, but he had lost the ability to put into words what he was thinking. He shrugged. "You're my best friend, Cas," he repeated.

Cas made a soft sound that could have been a chuckle. "I could say the same to you, Dean." He faced Dean, turning the full force of his wide, blue gaze on him, and Dean thought that were he another man, someone who wasn't used to this kind of scrutiny from Cas, he would have quailed under that look. There were moments when they sat like this where Dean thought that he could lose himself in that look. Cas looked at him as if he were something special, as if he were something that mattered. Dean hadn't seen that kind of look from, well, from anyone.

"Cas," Dean said, the word barely a whisper as his throat closed up, as air was squeezed from his lungs.

Time seemed to slow, then, as Dean and Cas looked at each other. Dean’s vision narrowed down to Cas's face, his eyes, and his mouth. Under the force of Cas's gaze, Dean was helpless to move, helpless to draw his eyes away, and he was not even sure he wanted to. Though there was intense beauty surrounding them; the wild forest behind them, the calm of the water in front, Dean saw none of it, was aware of none of it except for Cas.

And it was as if something inside him clicked, like a chain catching onto a gear, finally falling into place. It finally settled into him what was going on, and before he could even form the thought completely because he was afraid that if he even allowed himself a fraction of a thought, then he would talk himself out of it, Dean leaned forward and pressed his lips to Cas's, and they were kissing.

Cas made a startled noise in the back of his throat and he pulled back hesitantly, but then before Dean could even register disappointment, anger or even shame, Cas had surged in again, kissing Dean back for all he was worth. Cas's arms were wrapped around him, blunt fingernails scraping at the short hairs at the base of his neck, unerringly finding one of Dean's favorite spots without even trying. Dean let himself go, let all his inhibitions free, cupping Cas's face between his own hands, pulling the angel closer, closer until Cas was practically in his lap. The kiss was at once desperate, needy and perfect. All the fear and worry that they both had been feeling over the last few days was wrapped up in the kiss.

"Dean," Cas whispered, his breath ghosting over Dean's mouth, his hand caressing the back of Dean's head. "Oh, Dean," Cas said again, peppering soft kisses over Dean's mouth and chin.

Dean wrapped an arm around Cas's waist and held him tightly, not wanting to let go. He pulled a fistful of trench coat toward him. They fit together perfectly, Cas slightly more slender than he, though the power of the angel beneath the skin of his vessel was still evident. Much of Dean's life was filled with self-hatred and grief, and at this moment, every single iota of Dean's feelings of worthlessness was gone, flown out of the window. He felt like he fit, like he belonged, and he wondered why they'd taken so long to get to this point.

"I don't know, Dean," Cas said breathlessly, and Dean realized he must have spoken aloud. They stopped kissing, resting their foreheads together. Dean chuckled softly, and Cas answered with a laugh of his own. "This is not what I meant to happen, Dean."

"Oh?" Dean asked. They were both speaking softly, for their ears only, as if they were not literally in the middle of nowhere with no other creatures around except for various wildlife.

"We were supposed to talk about this first." Cas trailed his slender fingers down Dean's cheek, pressing lightly against Dean's lower lip. Dean pursed his lips in a kiss against the pads of Cas's fingers. "I had a speech planned."

"You did not," Dean said. But of course Cas did. Because he was not only an angel of the Lord, he was a strategist, and as such, he planned. He planned everything.

Cas laughed again, and Dean hoped that he could find a way to get Cas to make that sound more often. He almost never heard laughter from Cas, never heard anything that sounded like happiness ever, and more than anything, Dean wanted to know that Cas was happy.

"I did." Cas hesitated. "Would you like to hear it?"

Dean sat back and arranged his face to look attentive. "Sure. Go ahead, dude, wow me."

Cas smirked a bit at that. "I don't know if it's that kind of speech." He took a deep, fortifying breath, which Dean found interesting. An angel needing to take a breath to calm himself? Who had ever heard of such a thing?

"Angels don't deal well with uncertainty, Dean. All that I've ever felt in my existence is certainty. There is a comfort in knowing that what you are doing is what is meant to happen." They had shifted away from each other, so now Cas was hunched over, elbows on his knees. His hands were clasped together, and he looked down at them now, as if they held the answers to the great mysteries of the universe. "But with you, all there is is uncertainty. You throw me off balance, Dean, and it's infuriating."

"Cas, if this is meant to be..." Dean said, an uncomfortable weight settling in.

"Let me finish, please, Dean." Cas held up a hand. "It's infuriating because I am not used to it. And when you throw yourself into danger the way you do, with no regard for your own well being..." Cas trailed off. He looked at Dean, eyes wide, red rimmed, biting slightly on his lips. "I sometimes think you do it because you think that no one would care if you were gone. But I would care. Very, very much."

"Oh," Dean said.

Cas frowned slightly, brows drawing together and eyes squinting slightly. "I'm not sure if I know for sure what it is that I'm feeling, Dean, because I don't think I was ever meant to feel this. But..." he trailed off again, uncertain how to continue, not sure if he was even right. There was a slight tremor in his fingers, and Dean realized that Cas wasn't just uncertain, he was scared.

Castiel, angel of the Lord, warrior of God was scared. It was so far out of character for him that Dean was actually a little scared himself. "Cas," Dean said. He almost didn't want Cas to continue, was now afraid of what Cas would say. Because it could change everything.

Except that they'd probably already done that with the kiss.

"Cas, you don't..." Dean tried again.

"I don't what? I don't mean it?" Cas said sharply. He gave Dean a hard look, just shy of a glare. "You don't know what I mean or don't mean, Dean Winchester."

And Dean shouldn't have gotten a little thrill of... something... zinging through him at the tone that Cas used, at the way Cas used his full name, but he did, and he was probably already going to hell again for kissing an angel, so might as well go the whole hog and feel desire and want and lust too. Make the trip down under worth it.

"No, Cas. I meant. You don't have to say anything," Dean said quickly, because the last thing he wanted was to fight, not about this. It was still so tiny and fragile, like a baby bird.

Cas huffed. "That's all you do, Dean. You don't say anything. You never say anything, and I don't know whether that's the way things are supposed to be, or if that's just..." Cas shrugged, a human gesture of frustration. Dean wondered whether Cas got that from him. "If that's just _you_."

"Ouch, Cas." Dean pressed his palm to his heart. But rather than let something snarky fly out of his mouth, he stopped there. He could learn to be an adult.

"Dean," Cas said. He had a way of saying Dean's name that held so much meaning. Cas could cram so much into that one syllable. This syllable was filled with fond exasperation, verbal eye rolling done to perfection.

"Sorry, Cas." Dean put his hands up in the universal signal of surrender. "I'm really shit at these kinds of conversations, you should know that by now."

"Yes, because we've had so many of these conversations, you and I," Cas responded dryly.

Dean pursed his lips in irritation. "Now you're doing it." Cas just raised an eyebrow. "Being snarky."

"I learned from you, Dean."

This was becoming painful and irritating, Dean realized, and he didn't think he could sit here like this any much longer without losing it. Losing what, exactly, he wasn't sure, but he sure as fuck wasn't going to sit here and bicker with Cas.

"Cas, can we just cut to the chase, here?"

Cas folded his arms over his chest. "Yes, that would be a good idea." And then he waited. And waited.

And Dean realized that Cas was waiting for Dean to say something. Do something. Dean was clueless now. Finally, because he couldn't stand the silence any longer, he said, "Cas, what do you want from me?"

The look that Cas threw at Dean was pitying, as if Dean had completely missed the point. "Dean, this isn't just about what I want from you. It's about what you want."

Dean rubbed his eyes. "I don't want to be having this conversation anymore," he mumbled. He heard Cas suck in a breath next to him, and realized he'd spoken aloud. "Wait, no." Goddammit. "That's not what I meant."

"You _are_ bad at this," Cas observed.

"You're not helping, Cas." Dean pointed at him. "I mean, fuck, what the hell am I supposed to say here? You're an angel for fuck's sake. I'm human. You're... Shit, you're in a dude, I'm a dude, and I just fucking suck at this kind of thing. My longest relationship was with Lisa, and I fucked that up. Everyone that I love gets hurt. I just…” He stopped talking, unable to continue, really, and scrubbed at his face with his hand. He was suddenly tired, bone tired, the events of the last few days catching up with him, the emotional aspects of the last hour or so overwhelming him, threatening to pull him under.

Cas eyed him, eyes squinted against the bright sun, expression thoughtful. "Dean," he said softly.

"What, Cas. What?" Dean asked, impatient, because he did want the conversation to be over, and he wanted to be onto the next part, whatever that might be.

Cas sighed, such a human gesture, and Dean wondered where he'd learned it - had it been from him? From Sam? Or from some other human in his past - a past that extended out further than any Winchester had ever existed. Dean groaned.

"Cas, this is so fucked up, dude. I mean, you're..." Dean gestured, not certain how to finish the sentence.

"I'm what, Dean?" Cas frowned.

"You're a multidimensional wavelength of celestial intent." Dean looked at Cas, caught the blue eyes with his own, hoping that they would ground him, as they so often had in the past. "You're this unimaginable force, and I just... Shit Cas, I don't even know what it means to be celestial intent. How can I even think about being with you?"

"But you have."

Dean frowned. "What?"

"You have thought about it." Cas hesitated. "Haven't you?"

Yes, he had. He'd thought about what it might be like to have Cas at his side always. To have Cas run his fingers over his body, to kiss him, to bury his nose into his neck. Dean had thought about keeping Cas, and every time he did, a rotting feeling of shame and guilt swept through him. Dean spoiled everything. He couldn't do that to Cas.

Cas must have seen something in Dean's face, because his eyes flared with anger, and he gripped Dean's chin between his thumb and his forefinger. "Stop it," he growled. "I know what you are thinking, and you must not think that way. Not ever again."

Dean's shoulders slumped. "But," he began, but Cas cut him off with a fierce kiss, his lips pressing against Dean's with enough force to bruise. Dean returned the kiss, curling his fingers into Cas's hair, pulling him as close as he could, not wanting to let go, not ever. When they pulled apart, breathing heavily, Dean raised his eyes to Cas's.

"Dean," Cas said. "You cannot ruin me any more than I have ruined myself." Cas rested his forehead on Dean's shoulder. "We are broken, you and I. But I think we could fit together."

Dean thought about that for a long time, stroking up and down Cas's back lightly. Despite the warmth of the island, the slight beads of sweat that popped up on Dean's upper lip, he was enjoying the burning heat of the angel. And he thought. He thought about what Cas had said, and he thought about how things were never quite right without Cas, how they were never quite settled. More than that, he thought about how small his family really was, how many people he lost whether he was trying desperately to hold onto them or not.

Dean closed his eyes and took a leap. "Will you stay? With me?" he asked in a small voice. 

Cas kissed him again, then, murmuring softly in between each touch of his lips to Dean's. "Yes." Kiss. "Yes, Dean."


End file.
